


Eight Statements found in the Magnus Archives

by swimmingwithsharks



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Minor Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Multi, Original Statement (The Magnus Archives), Podfic, Self-Indulgent, Statement Fic (The Magnus Archives), The Magnus Archives Season 1, Unapologetically so, so the scepticism is heavy sorry, very minor bcs while i love them this is not what this is about
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-15 02:41:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29926680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swimmingwithsharks/pseuds/swimmingwithsharks
Summary: What would your own characters do if they had a supernatural experience?Make a statement at the Magnus Institute, of course.Follow the transcript of eight recorded statements, taken from a group of university students, that should have logical explanations and most certainly not supernatural ones. But do they?
Comments: 6
Kudos: 5





	Eight Statements found in the Magnus Archives

**Author's Note:**

> TW: uncanny valley, mentions of alcohol and drinking, mentions of body horror, mentions of head injuries

Statement 0161406

Given by George Stone-Zhang

Recorded by Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Archives, directly from subject

(It knocks and a young man enters his office. He’s tall and broad with middle length blonde hair and brown roots. Possibly of East Asian descent and around twenty-three. Wearing a dress shirt dangerously low unbuttoned and suit trousers.)

YOUNG MAN **[clears his throat, speaks in a pleasant deep voice]** : Hello, I’m George Stone-Zhang. Your secretary told me to go in here for a statement?

MR SIMS (sitting up straight): Yes, please take a seat. I’m Jonathan Sims, the Head Archivist at the Magnus Institute.

(Mr. Stone Zhang sits down opposite to him. He leans back in the chair too small for him. Looks oddly comfortable for someone who came here.)

MR SIMS: Now, Mr. Stone- Zhang-

GEORGE **[interrupting him gently]** : Please, George is fine. I’m 24 and a university student.

MR SIMS **[uncomfortably, but trying to respect his wishes]:** Alright, George. **[the strain in his voice is clear]** Would like you to give your statement in written form or recorded?

GEORGE: Recorded is fine. Do I just **[he pauses, considering]** start talking?

MR SIMS: If you wish to do so. Let me just- Statement recorded on the 14th of June from George Stone-Zhang by Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute.

(An awkward pause ensues. George shifts on his chair and Mr. Sims waits.)

GEORGE **[chuckles]:** Do I just start now?

(MR SIMS nods.)

GEORGE **[cont.]** : Okay. I guess, I should start this by saying that I usually deal well with strangers. I get along with almost all of the people who study medicine with me. I like to go to the many parties on campus, I like to go on dates that I find over online dating and I don’t mind calling places I’ve never been to before. Hell, I live in a big house for student housing and I only want to move to a remote cabin in the woods about every two months or so. I can speak a few languages and try to learn more, so unfamiliarity doesn’t scare me off initially. I can hold a conversation easily. **[he laughs]** Sounds a bit like I’m showing off. Maybe I am. Anyways, my point is I do well with strangers, even enjoy them and I’m not anxious about it.

(He pauses and the charming smile falls off his face.)

GEORGE **[he sounds a lot more serious now, the easy lilt gone from his voice]** : But this girl. I’m usually good with stranger danger but she didn’t set me off until it was almost too late. I saw her profile on Tinder, she was attractive, wasn’t weird about me being bisexual or half-Chinese which honestly happens more often than I would like to. **[finds his laughter back, if only for a moment]** She wanted no strings attached, just like I did so I agreed to a date easily. She wanted to go see a theatre play at the Finborough Theatre in Kensington that she already had tickets for, and since I’ve been on many dates but never in a theatre I readily agreed. It was a Friday evening, 7:35 pm and a perfectly warm summer night, good for a walk later and perfect for going to a nice bar.

 **[He pauses, sighs]** It was the perfect plan, you know. And Grace Smith, as her profile said was clearly impressed with my appearance which is what usually happens when people see me for the first time. **[he honest to god winks and smiles but there’s definitely an edge to it] [a chuckle, just as strained]** Anyways, she pleasantly surprised me too. She looked exactly like her pictures, so much that it almost freaked me out. But it is a good thing, right? If people look like their pictures. Means they’re honest. At least that’s what I thought then. She smiled a smile that looked exactly like the one she had in her photos and if she smiled for longer it looked like she cropped herself out of the photos. We went in, handed in our jackets and gave our tickets to the man handling the ticket booth and chatted, nothing special, I can’t even remember what we talked about. I think her job. 

(He pauses again and sighs, running a hand through his hair.)

Sorry, I’ll get to the point. Grace was pleasant, she was nice, she smiled exactly like her pictures and while I don’t think the theatre is an appropriate place for a snogging session, I was definitely planning on it for later. It started when we finally sat down, relatively at the front of the theatre.

(He pauses again and runs his fingers through his hair again, a little more frantic than before.)

I began to feel so weird about her. We sat there, chatting, and this feeling in my chest would not stop. Felt a little like it was eating at my throat to be honest **. [he chuckles, clearly trying to get at ease but he just sounds breathless.]** And what truly unsettled me was that I didn’t know why. Usually, if strangers scare me off it’s because they become weird or come too close for comfort or say something incredibly offensive or are rude to the waitress, you know, all these immediate red flags that make you leave a date. But with her there wasn’t anything like it. She was perfectly pleasant. Our conversation and her posture were a little stiff, but that’s not unusual for a first date.

(he runs through his hair again and at this point the Head Archivist has to assume it is a nervous gesture.)

And I still felt that weird feeling, stuck in the middle of my throat. It was only when the play started and she shushed me jokingly when I noticed. She didn’t do any of these nervous, underlying gestures everyone does, you know? Picking at her nails, letting her hands wander over the velvet seats of the theatre, running her hands through her dark brown hair, fixing her outfit or whatever it is someone does. She sat perfectly still, stiff and looked at the stage. Watching the super boring play. It was terrible, the plot line was stilted, the dialogue straight up weird and even the costumes made no sense. [he laughs, dry] They were made of some weird animal skin. I don’t know what that had to do with the play, but it was just strange. Made me feel exactly like Grace made me feel. The worst thing was, that it got stronger every minute, but I couldn’t pinpoint it at all. I just felt- **[he pauses, clearly searching for the word]** tethered. Like I was fraying at the edges. Unsettled. **[he breathes out, heavily and shakily]**

Then I finally noticed. Grace seemed… robotic. She laughed at the play, I’m not sure why, I didn’t think it was funny at all. About a woman who was slowly gaining more parts of her personality by stealing it from others. Morbid and convoluted, but not funny. But she laughed. And she laughed every five minutes. Exactly every five minutes. It fit with the play but when I looked at the clock because the pattern, she laughed in seemed so strange to me, I noticed that she laughed every five minutes. For exactly 30 seconds. In the exact same sequence. It started with a quiet chuckle, went into a hysterical giggle, a well-timed snort and at the end: a sigh. Then she fell silent again only to start up five minutes later in the same way. And now that I noticed I noticed that she had laughed the same the whole time we were together. Then I noticed another thing, even in the dark of the theatre. She blinked in sequences. I’m so sure of it, I even counted the seconds. She blinked in fucking sequences. **[his voice is shaking, almost unnoticeable but there]**

(he sits up, nothing left of the relaxed young man, instead there is someone tense, like a string stretched over a violin)

That was when I decided that I wouldn’t go with her anywhere afterwards. I would politely decline any further invitation and fuck off. With that I felt calmer and could finally lean back into my seat. That’s when she- **[he grits his teeth and clenches and unclenches his jaw]** she took my hand. Normal for a date but for me it felt like I dipped my hand into an ice bucket. She was so cold. And her skin felt weird. I really don’t know how else to describe it.

(he pulls a face, wrinkles his nose)

Leathery. It felt like I was touching a leather jacker. An old one. And underneath that leather there was a… I can’t describe it, it felt like cogs turning in a machine. Under the surface of her weird fucking skin. Of course, I pulled my hand away like I burned myself. She turned to me, blinking her sequenced blinks. She leaned to me and whispered, quietly and I somehow could still hear the cogs inside her turning: “Why did you stop?”

 **[now the shake in his voice is noticeable]** I- I didn’t know what to say to her. ‘Your skin feels like leather and for some reason I’m beginning to think you’re actually a machine, not a human’? **[a laugh, a little hysterical]** No. But then I noticed another thing and I regret saying that out loud more than anything else. I looked at her, her strange glass eyes and her perfectly symmetrical smile and said: “You’re not breathing.” She wasn’t- her chest didn’t rise and fall, she hadn’t been breathing for a while. And do you know what she did?

(He leans over the table, a frantic manner about the way he lets his hands wander through his hair, his clothes, over the surface of the table. He fixes the archivist with wide eyes.)

She looked herself up and down, then suddenly started breathing and then said, like talking about the weather or a walk in the park: “Oh. Sorry. I forget to, sometimes.”

And then, right on time, she laughed her laughter again, the hysterical giggle ringing in my ears. I felt like screaming but the weird feeling in my throat was stuck there and wouldn’t budge. I mumbled something about the bathroom because screw being polite and not getting up in the middle of the play, I needed to leave this stranger, this puppet, otherwise I was sure I would go insane. But before I could get up, she grabbed my arm and pulled me towards her. Then she put her leathery, mechanic finger on my lips and shushed me. I could feel the leather of her skin and the machine working against my lips and the cold. The cold, the strangeness of it all; I could feel it reaching for me. Reaching down my mouth, into my throat, crawling around there. Grabbing something. **[he’s breathing heavily, shakily either close to an asthmatic attack or crying]**

(he brings his right hand to his throat, rubbing it with hectic movements)

Then she pulled her hand away, taking something with it, nodded and said: “Go.” Then she smiled, that smile cropped out of her photos, her teeth glittering under the stage lights: “And thank you. Quid pro quo.” Then she laughed again and I- **[he pauses, catching his breath]** I know this will sound weird. But as I left, ran out of there, I swear the actors on stage laughed with her. I felt their laughter in my back, could still hear it even after I closed the door of the theatre. It only stopped when I was finally outside, probably giving the man in the ticket booth quite a shock with my sudden appearance. I ran away from the theatre into the next best bar. I probably drank my own weight in whiskey and then finally managed to block Grace’s profile with shaking hands. I don’t remember how I got home, just that I woke up with a terrible hangover and a strange cold feeling in my throat that didn’t go away until a week later. That phrase she said though-

(he shakes his head, shivering)

Quid pro quo. It’s Latin. Means “something for something.”

(Suddenly George looks at him, and there is something hectic, utterly scared in his dark eyes that it unsettles him as well.)

Do you know what I can’t do since that night, Mr. Sims? I can’t understand Latin anymore. I took a course a year ago for my studies, passed with flying colours and since then I can understand and read a fair amount of Latin. But I left the theatre and since then I have to google every Latin I see. Quid pro quo. Et cetera. Ergo. All these common phrases that we even talked about in the course. I don’t know anything about Latin anymore, it’s like the whole language is gone from my brain.

(He looks past him, staring the wall down.)

GEORGE: Something for something. Do you know what I think, no matter how crazy that may sound to you? I think she took my ability to understand Latin. She took it out of me with her strange, leather fingers. I don’t know what she exchanged it for. What she gave me instead.

(He leans back in his chair, sighing deeply. A pause in the room.)

MR SIMS **[maintaining his neutral tone]** : Is that it, Mr St- George?

GEORGE: **[you can hear the relief in his voice, almost back to normal]** Yes, that’s it. I never saw her again and I don’t plan on it either. May I leave now?

MR SIMS: Yes, you may. Thank you.

(His chair scrapes over the floor. The shuffling of clothes.)

GEORGE **[you can hear his smile returning back to his face]** : I will hear back from the Institute if you find anything, right?

MR SIMS: That’s right. We will contact you with anything we can find.

GEORGE **[laughs, properly and at ease this time, his voice doesn’t quite fill out, panic still lingering]** : As long as it’s not Grace. Goodbye, Mr. Sims.

(A door falls shut, steps disappear down the hallway.)

MR SIMS: Statement ends.

(The recorder clicks. Clicks again.)

MR SIMS: Supplements. **[he sighs]** It seems that the play that Mr Stone- Zhang was seeing, was playing on that Friday at 8 pm. The name was “The many talents of Emily Waters.” The plot seems to concise with Mr. Stone-Zhang’s short description. Which only proves that he didn’t make that part up, of course. Adam Grain, the man who was handling the ticket booth, confirmed that a man, matching Mr. Stone-Zhang’s description left the theatre around 8.56 pm in rather a haste. No other visitors could confirm actors laughing at someone leaving the auditorium. We contacted Mr. Stone- Zhang’s friend James Purkayashta, who confirmed his severely hung-over state the following Saturday and his inability to understand any Latin since then. To me personally this seems rather like a date that he just didn’t enjoy, then drank too much, subsequently overdoing it and warping the experience in his mind. Another possibility is that he managed to harm himself while drunk, like hitting his head, and now doesn’t remember it. It is likely that an accident occurred to Mr. Stone-Zhang in his drunken state and therefore the whole experience seems to him strange and frightening. The same accident could’ve very well caused an undiscovered head injury that affected his Latin skills. It is of course easy for his best friend to say to us that Mr. Stone-Zhang is usually an careful drinker who never has any accidents, and has rather the affinity for any languages, speaking at least five. But that could easily be a lie. This sounds like typical university non-sense, I will ask Martin to file it away, he should be able to do that properly. End supplements.

(Tape recorder clicks.)

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! :)   
> This is the first thing I've ever posted, purely self-indulgent and created for mostly myself and the three people who I force to read my stuff. It is technically in the TMA Universe but revovles heavily around my OCs which I created with my cousin and best friend when I was very young. They have since been fleshed out but in their core remain the same. I have the tendency to just put them into whatever I'm fixated on at the moment, so I have many universes and many plots with my cast of eight. I often write it down but never publish it. This is the least amount of commitment to my own writing so I was able to do it. I hope someone finds joy in these characters and my writing.  
> Comments are greatly appreaciated, especially about my tagging system (I'm new here), the TWs and my English since it's not my first language. Thanks <3


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